


Deep in the Light

by justhuman, wesleysgirl



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angel Book of Days Challenge, M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-03
Updated: 2003-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhuman/pseuds/justhuman, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a new vamp comes to town and meets up with former evil lawyer, turned singer?<br/>Timeline ~  Through "Home" with S5 speculation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep in the Light

_Summer lovin' had me a blast  
Summer lovin', happened so fast  
I met a girl crazy for me  
I met a boy, cute as can be_  
"Summer Lovin'" - Grease

Lindsey sighed as he went through yet another pile of paperwork.

It wasn't that he didn't, on some level, appreciate and even like being back at Wolfram and Hart now that Angel was in charge. It wasn't even that it had all happened so fast, although it had -- he'd grown up learning how to roll with the punches, and this time was no exception. The right opportunity knocks, only a fool would turn it away at the door. So he'd opened wide, and let Angel in.

Not that Angel had actually requested his return personally. Oh no, that had been Wesley Wyndam-Pryce's job and, if Lindsey wasn't mistaken, Pryce's idea as well. Angel himself seemed to accept Lindsey's presence grudgingly, the way a man might accept a tow -- he didn't like needing it, but he wasn't stupid enough to refuse it.

When Wesley had contacted him and suggested that it might be an opportune time for him to return to L.A., Lindsey'd been surprised. Well okay, maybe surprised wasn't a strong enough word. In any case, it hadn't taken the other man long to explain the situation to Lindsey. To explain why he was needed. To convince him that they were talking a two-way street, with just as many benefits -- financial, intellectual, not to mention a chance to maybe redeem himself -- for Lindsey as there were for the company.

Now, actually back in L.A., he was still adjusting. The change in climate was one thing -- he sure didn't mind being back in the sunshine -- but the change in Wolfram and Hart was another. He wouldn't have accepted the offer if things hadn't been different, but even so, the difference was a continual surprise.

Lindsey finished what he'd been doing, feeling more than a bit smug that the current project he was working on was something that would have been far too goody-goody for the old firm, and tucked the papers into a file folder. He was just bending over to pick up a paper clip that had fallen onto the floor when he heard a noise in his office doorway.

"Nice to see the view hasn't changed. So tell me, cowboy, how does a body keep in shape while singing in bars?" By turning his head slightly, Lindsey had a view all his own of Lilah's legs, which crossed themselves nicely, as she settled into one of the leather side chairs.

Lindsey straightened up slowly, the paper clip between his fingers, and gave a quick toss of his head to get his hair out of his eyes. It was moving past stylishly-mussed and into downright shaggy again, but he'd been too busy to deal with getting it cut. "I don't know, Lilah. How do you maintain your girlish figure?"

Lilah's smile was just as wide and as fake as it had ever been. "Don't knock it. If fashion models knew how easy it is to keep in shape when you're dead..." Lilah let the line trail off before glancing at the folder on the desk. "So, I see that the bosses pulled in the big guns, for what? A simple charity case? Waste of talent."

"I guess that depends on your point of view."

"True enough." Lilah smoothed a non-existent wrinkle out of her skirt. "So I hear that this is only a part-time job for you. Rumor has it that Lorne set you up for this weekend at the Underground Blues. If you were interested in a little extra cash, the Senior Partners have an interest in keeping some long-term clients happy. They're concerned with Angel and his gang just getting their feet wet that maybe they aren't up for this kind of challenge."

"I'm still getting my feet wet myself," Lindsey said, automatically and honestly, and then winced inwardly at the admission. "But even if I weren't, I'm not interested." Curious, maybe, but not interested.

Nodding, Lilah stood up. "The partners can be patient. In fact, I have a little present from them." Lilah strolled around Lindsey's desk and gestured at the computer currently covered with pipes magically rerouting themselves.

"Go ahead," Lindsey said, taking a step sideways so that he'd be able to see whatever it was she had up her sleeve, even though part of him was pretty sure he didn't want to know.

Without sitting down, Lilah wiggled the mouse and quickly pulled up the Internet. After she hand-typed a URL, the screen went black for a moment while the tell tale blue bar crept along, indicating that something was loading. Slowly, a full-screened photo unrolled, showing a shirtless and grease-stained Lindsey glaring at the engine of his truck. The banner read, "Lust and the Traveling Man."

Stepping out of Lindsey's way, Lilah commented, "Nice shot. I hear that she bought it off E-bay after sending threatening e-mails to some of the other bidders. The site houses candid shots, mostly from your performances, but there's one section that she paid a private detective to take."

Lindsey glanced at Lilah and then back at the screen in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, not even I could make this up. Ruby is apparently a fan--a really big fan. If you explore the site, you'll find pictures, essays, liner notes for the songs you improvised on-stage. I've got to say that the fan-fiction section is pretty inspired. Can you really get it up a dozen times a night?"

He moved a bit closer to the computer and clicked on a link. A page with a number of thumbnail pictures of himself appeared, and Lindsey clicked on one of them, staring at the larger image. He vaguely recognized the venue, but didn't remember the photo being taken. "What?" he said, realizing that Lilah had asked a question, and then that the name she'd mentioned was familiar. "Um, yeah. Got some fan letters from her I think. I didn't know that she was so, um... fanatical."

"Oh she is. By the way, that story on the top of the recent list is pretty good. You're singing in a space bar and then having hot sex with dominatrix." At Lindsey's disbelieving look, Lilah added, "I could see you as a bottom."

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, then wrenched his brain back to the matter at hand. "And you're showing me this why, exactly? I know you, Lilah. This is some... move in a game."

Striding towards the door, Lilah paused, turning back with a half-smile on her face. "I told you, it's a present. The Senior Partners thought you would like to know that Ruby's taking the Greyhound across two states just to come to your show tonight. If you click the link to her Live Journal, you can read her plans to win your heart." Lilah just turned and walked out, not waiting for a reaction.

Lindsey sat down, blinking thoughtfully as he clicked on a few more of the links. He wasn't _really_ disturbed, he told himself. It was just a little disconcerting. But eventually he clicked on the link to Ruby's Live Journal, and sat very still as he read her latest entry and absorbed what she was planning.

* * * * *

Spike considered that bad habits were supposed to be enjoyable and shouldn't bloody well hurt. Taking another drag on his cigarette, he winced and gritted his teeth, which just made his face hurt more. In the grand scheme of things it wasn't a big deal -- the purpled bruises would be gone in a day -- but that didn't mean that they had to be there. Fuck Angel. Fuck his swishy coat and fuck his broodier-than-thou attitude.

Not for the first time, Spike wished that he had gone off to join the Nibblet in Oxford. Jaunts to London, punting at midnight, pub-crawling, unexpectedly seeing the ex, the one for whom he'd bloody well died and saved the world. Bloody hell. Reaching into his pocket, Spike pulled out Dawn's latest letter. Word-processed to hell, but there were doodles in purple and turquoise ink all over the margins, because she got that he wanted a more personal touch. She didn't have the proper appreciation for steak and kidney pie, but that was all right, because for the first time in her life, she was getting to be a normal person -- well, as normal as a Watcher-in-Training could be.

"Can you tell me something?" Striding next to Angel, Spike continued to examine his letter, as the pair made their way though the L.A. sewers. "Did you let that Lilah bint bring me back just so you could bloody well hit me, or did you actually think that hitting your fucking _partner_ would in some way defeat the bad guys?"

Angel made a noise that might have been a snort, or maybe a growl. It echoed slightly in the damp tunnel. "Yeah, that's exactly what happened. I couldn't find enough things to annoy me in L.A., so I had to have you brought back."

Bolting a few steps ahead, Spike turned and continued walking backwards, arms spread wide with a look of anguish on his face. Crossing his hands over his unbeating heart in an act of contrition and letting each word drip with sarcasm, Spike said, "Oh! I do beg your pardon. Did you damage those meat hooks of yours by taking out your annoyance on my face?" He grimaced. "Didn't we manage to terrorize an entire continent without actually tripping over each other's feet? What the hell happened to you?"

Over a hundred bloody years and some things never changed. Spike smelled denial coming just as clearly as the odor of dead rat.

Angel's expression was one of carefully-practiced scorn. "Haven't we had this conversation before? I'm not real interested in having it again."

Stuffing Dawn's letter back into his pocket, Spike stopped directly in front of Angel. The words were out of his mouth without passing through his brain -- or in all honesty, the words _had_ passed through Spike's brain, but he didn't care. "How the hell did Buffy put up with you if you can't even figure out when to turn-kick instead of hitting the bloke who's _helping_ you?"

Angel's left hand shot out and caught the front of Spike's shirt. That, at least, felt familiar, even if it was gentler than he remembered. "We're not talking about Buffy." Angel let go of Spike like he could hardly bear to touch him. "Besides," he said, with what might have been a hint of humor, "you were the one who was supposed to turn-kick."

'What do you know,' Spike thought: this was the second bad habit of the day that felt like crap. The hand on his shirt had been just as familiar and unwelcome as always -- didn't mean a body didn't react, if only out of habit-only this time it hadn't. Fancy that.

"I've bloody well been doing this for the last three years with no mishaps. Person on the right lands a right-cross. Other person is supposed to turn-kick so, I don't know, he doesn't accidentally bash in his partner's eye."

"No, the person on the _left_ is the one who's supposed to... oh." A flash of realization crossed Angel's face, followed immediately by a look that was rather sheepish. "Okay, so maybe we are. Talking about Buffy, I mean."

And even though Spike was the one who had brought Buffy up in the first place, he had an overwhelming and childish desire to tell Angel that they weren't talking about her. But then he got it, and it pissed him off a little inside. "Right, sides don't matter. Man lands the punch and the Slayer does the turn-kick, 'cause kicking is fun and the punching, while necessary, might lead to a broken nail."

"Yeah." Angel rocked his weight back onto his heels and stuck his hands into his pockets, glancing from Spike to the ground and back again. "So anyway, it wasn't my fault, plus you don't have to be such a baby about it. You'd think no one'd ever hit you before, from the way you're carrying on."

Pulling another fag from his pocket, Spike gave Angel a sideways glare while he lit up. A part of him wanted a little respect from Angel in a pathological way, and another part of him was ready to shout from a rooftop, in broad daylight, letting the world know that he didn't give a fuck about Angel's opinion. Taking a deep drag, he kicked a random piece of flotsam out of the dirty stream flowing in the middle of the tunnel and into the wall. It echoed nicely.

Yeah, from a vamp point of view he was acting like a complete baby. After all, if he wanted to be pissy about the face, he could just hit Angel back. That didn't sound like a bad idea, but it... it didn't seem to have _any_ emotion connected to it. Spike decided he would rather burn up like the sun was inside him, again, than deal with that thought.

"Fuck it." Tossing his barely started fag, he stomped down the tunnel.

He could hear silence behind him for just a few seconds, and then the sound of Angel following after him. "Way to make it look like you've matured," Angel said, not loudly, but loudly enough. He'd know Spike would be able to hear him. "Look, I'm sorry about the face thing, okay?"

Gnawing thoughtfully on his lower lip, Spike stopped and turned, hands moving as if by instinct to his hip. It was an insolent posture that had taken years to perfect. "Yeah, I'm not feelin' bucket loads of sincerity. It's not like either of us wants me to be here."

Angel blinked, stopping again himself when Spike turned around. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it again.

After waiting a couple of seconds, Spike nodded and really hoped there was something left in that bourbon bottle in his desk drawer. "Right." Turning, he started walking again.

"If you want me on my knees begging for forgiveness, you're gonna have to wait another hundred years," Angel called to him, then made a little noise as if he realized what he'd said.

"Don't want your begging. Tell you what though; I'll be back in a hundred years 'cause you on your knees is somethin' I've been waitin' for." Spike could feel the agitation building, and it didn't matter that he'd been hitting things less than an hour ago. Mumbling under his breath, he kept walking. "Not like I'll have anything better to do."

"Not with that attitude you won't," Angel muttered behind him.

"Just keep sending my paycheck to Dawn."

There was a slight scuffling sound as Angel put on a burst of speed and came around in front of him, blocking his path but not touching him. "Look, what the _hell_ is your problem? I find it hard to believe you're this pissed off about a little punch in the face."

His legs stopped, but Spike was casually balling his fist at his side. "You want to know what my problem is? I've made a career out of hanging out with people involved, one way or another, with the end of the bloody world -- present company included. So I don't help the bad guys and eventually fall for the good guys... Bust my balls for this girl -- "

This girl that they were _not_ talking about. Pursing his lips, Spike turned his head and studied the slime and the grime of the sewer wall. "This girl who really didn't love me, not in that forever kinda way at least. But you know, didn't matter, 'cause it was my day. I did the job that no one else could do for her." Spike turned, facing Angel.

"I did the job she wanted _me_ to do. Didn't give a fuck that I had do die to do it. Wasn't supposed to come back." Spike gave a tired chuckle while rubbing the back of his thumb along his forehead. "Guess I really know how she felt now."

Angel just stood there for a long moment, long enough that Spike started to wonder if he actually had anything to say. When it came, it was more sympathetic than he'd expected. "So what? You're just gonna keep moping around, complaining that you hate it here?"

Spike tried to imagine what that would have sounded like coming from Angelus' mouth. Really, the words wouldn't have been much different, but the voice, the attitude. "Great, subject of pity now. Maybe I'll just pack up and head back to Sunnydale. Oh wait, no more Sunnydale, but that's okay, because the Scoobies will take me back in, right? Except for the part where everyone but Dawn didn't give a crap that I was back."

"Look, I'm telling you this for your own good," Angel said. "Working for redemption means, you know, actually getting up off your ass and looking for ways to redeem yourself, not hanging around feeling sorry for yourself."

Angel turned and started back up the tunnel. He didn't look back as he said, "It's your choice, Spike. I think it's time you made it."

* * * * *

Spike had spent hours down in the sewer, thinking. All right, breaking whatever was handy, but also thinking. One had to work for redemption. It wasn't like it didn't make sense to Spike, but he kept coming up to the stumbling block of whether or not he wanted redemption.

It had all been easy when he went to get the soul, and even before. It had all been about Buffy. If she wanted a good man and the only way for him to be that good man was to be redeemed... well, the answer was plain, no complicated thought process necessary. But now Spike was on his own and really had no fucking idea what he wanted.

Now that the First was out of his brain, Spike found that he didn't dwell on past soulless sins. Yeah, when the thoughts rose most of them made him cringe, but he knew that nothing he did now would change any of that. Keeping his nose relatively clean seemed like a plan, but sweet Jesus, there had to be something more than being a monk in this army of goody-two-shoes.

And Spike was tired of thinking about it; at least not without a few stiff drinks under his belt. Unfortunately, the bottle in his office was bone dry, but there were advantages to working for a rich law firm -- all the executive offices were well stocked. And what should waft his way but the scent of Jack Daniel's.

Lindsey McDonald? Spike tried to place the name stenciled on the wood door; not one of Angel's usual gang. Good, less trouble if Spike got caught. Putting on a congenial grin, Spike opened the door into an empty office. Giving the room the quick once-over, he headed across to settle himself in the nice leather desk chair and pick up a half-finished glass of lovely amber liquid. No telly in the room, but on the computer screen... some kind of story.

There was a muffled sound in the doorway, and Spike looked up to see a man paused there. "Spike, I take it," he said flatly, then came over around the desk and leaned far enough to flick the button on the computer monitor, turning it black. "Did you need something, or is it just my turn?"

Having lost whatever entertainment might have been on the screen, Spike pushed back a bit and then threw his Docs onto the desk. This must be McDonald. Not bad in the designer suit, but Spike preferred the shirtless look he'd glimpsed on the website. Picking up the drink again, Spike asked, "Your turn for what?"

Lindsey reached out for the glass, but Spike rolled backward a foot or so away from him, meeting his eyes challengingly. "My turn to find out just how much fun you are in person," Lindsey said, then gestured with his chin towards Spike's face. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, this?" Spike gestured with his glass and shrugged. "Just out having fun with my fan club. Different than yours it seems." Spike pointed at the blank computer screen. "They seem to like to paste up half-naked pictures of you. How do you get a gig like that?" This one looked like he was going to be all pissy. Spike downed the alcohol, since he suspected ejection was a near-future event.

A snort from Lindsey. "Trust me, I didn't sign on for it." The man's eyes flicked back over to the computer screen, then to Spike again, thoughtfully. "Although speaking of gigs..."

Spike knew that tone, knew that look. This was a man with a deal. Suddenly things were looking livelier. More -- Spike stopped the rapid-fire thoughts and stood up, strolling to the sideboard with the first glass and picking up a second one. Usually deals meant doing less than legal things, and... and wasn't that the kind of thing he wasn't sure about? "Sounds like you've got something needs doing." Spike poured them both a drink. No harm listening; or at least, probably not.

"You saw that website," Lindsey said, coming over and taking the proffered glass, but not drinking from it. The expression on his face was stony, but Spike suspected that was a front, that the man was troubled about something. "Seems I've got myself a... stalker." Ah, that'd be it then. "She's planning on coming to my show tonight. The club's got bouncers, but I'm thinking some kind of private bodyguard might be a good idea. You interested?"

Swirling the JD around in his mouth, Spike nodded thoughtfully. Bodyguard. Piece of cake, legal, easy money. Well, if there was money or maybe something to trade. "Might be interested. What d'ya do? Are you any good at it? Oh, and what's in it for me?"

"I sing and play the guitar, guess it depends on who you ask, and cash," Lindsey said, ticking the answers off on his fingers. "About five hours, say... Two hundred and fifty?"

Fifty bucks an hour wasn't bad money, especially doing easy work in a bar. There was a blessed dagger that he had been looking at for Dawn; actually, he had considered stealing it, but couldn't do it. It bugged him in ways that he didn't want to consider, even if Dawn would never know how he'd got it. He felt... guilty about the idea of handing her stolen goods. This sounded like a peachy deal all 'round, and it didn't hurt that this McDonald wasn't so hard on the eyes, and he didn't seem to be treating Spike like something you'd scrape off the bottom of your shoe, as too many people at Wolfram and Hart, seemed to do these days.

"Two-fifty sounds good, it'll buy a nice pressie for my girl. I, uh, might need a bit of lawyerly help getting it through customs to England."

"Customs I can handle," Lindsey said dismissively, like he spent every day smuggling stuff through.

Putting out his glass, Spike clinked his tumbler against Lindsey's, and they both took a moderate drink to seal the deal. "So what are we up against? I only got a glimpse on the computer."

Lindsey sighed and ran a hand over his hair, then finished his drink off in one big swallow. He gestured at the computer with the empty glass. "Check it out. She's... well, let's just say I hadn't realized what a big fan she was."

For the next 15 minutes or so, Spike clicked through the website, not really dwelling too much on the fiction and fluff. The journal bit was interesting, though Spike kept an impassive look on his face --after all, formerly evil vampire. The last entry did make his eyebrows move up momentarily, and to cover, he clicked a link, which unfolded a nice bit of porn, with Lindsey as one of the participants. Spike raised his eyes 'innocently' to Lindsey's face.

McDonald had been fiddling with some papers and things. Probably trying to look busy, but as soon as Spike looked at him, he stopped. "Well? What do you think?"

"You're hiding quite a bit of muscle under that suit?" Spike lifted a hand at the screen. "Also, based on this pic, your head is a bit too small for your shoulders."

Lindsey started to move as if he were going to step closer and look at the screen, but then stopped. "I don't think I want to know. But I meant about the job."

Spike didn't smell fear coming off McDonald, and if anyone else looked at the lawyer, they'd probably say, cool and collected, but Spike was beginning to see a bit of fraying at the edges.

"She's not quite up there on the insanity scale with Dru; she seems much too organized for that." Standing up, Spike gave the desk an absent slap. "Doesn't matter. She's still only human, and I'll be on the lookout for her. Wish she'd put up a picture of herself amongst all the rest."

"Seems like she was more interested in paying people for pictures of me. Lindsey ran a hand through his hair, which didn't help straighten it at all if that was what he was going for. "You want a ride to the club? Or would you rather meet me there?"

The thought of more time alone in the sewers was bloody depressing. "If you've got tinted windows, I can get by with a blanket."

"I've got access to a company car," Lindsey said, with an expansive wave of his hand. "Necro-tempered glass, just like the building. My first set doesn't start until 9, but I want to be there at least an hour and a half early, so pick you up at 7? You've got to tell me where though, unless you want me digging through whatever Files and Records has got on you."

"Now there's a scary bint." Spike headed to the door, speaking over his shoulder. "I'm over at the Hyperion. I'll meet you in the lobby, unless Angel's there. I'll be where hair-gel-for-brains is not -- probably the kitchen."

"Okay. And... thanks. Last thing I need to be worrying about while I'm up on stage is some crazy fan trying to get her hands on me."

Pausing at the door, Spike put on a serious look. "You're payin' me good money -- I've got your back. No one's getting their hands on you while I'm around." With a nod, Spike headed out into the corridor.

* * * * *

Lindsey had done a sound check ten minutes before and everything looked good, so he'd gone backstage and was mentally going through his set while Spike, supposedly, checked out the rest of the club.

He had no idea whether Spike actually knew what he was doing or not -- a vampire would clearly know how to fight, and would obviously be stronger than any human out there. That didn't mean that Spike knew how to assess whether or not a location was secure, or how to tell if certain spots in the club might grant better access to the stage. Of course, Lindsey didn't really know how to do that either, so at this point he pretty much had to hope that Spike could handle it.

The vampire was... a surprise. He'd read about him, heard about him, known to expect an attitude that would have been a better fit on someone twice the size, but none of it had prepared him for the reality. Which was that Spike had a real sense of humor, not _just_ sarcasm, working for him. And that, despite the fact that Spike couldn't have been more different from Angel physically, Lindsey was just as drawn to him as he'd ever been to Angel, though in a slightly different way.

Swish of leather, thoughtful stare, like Spike was checking every dark corner--every possible way in or out. The drink in his hand didn't give that feeling of 'professionalism' and frankly, eyeing the exits seemed to be more like looking for escape routes than keeping potential psychos at bay, but Lindsey wasn't necessarily bothered by unorthodox methods. Not if they got the job done.

Lindsey was more disturbed than he'd like to admit by the whole stalker thing, and part of him suspected that Spike knew that. It was partially that Angel had always been so perceptive -- Lindsey assumed that the ability had something to do with a vampire's preternatural senses. He didn't like the idea that Spike could tell how bothered he was... but on the other hand, he didn't think there was anything he could do about it.

"How's it look?" Lindsey called out to him, hoping for some kind of reassurance.

"Death trap," Spike said with authority. The vampire's eyes continued to scan the rafters. "Lots of wood in this joint, and lots of lights that I suspect get terribly hot. And -- " Spike's eyes wandered down, locking with Lindsey's momentarily. "And, and, right. It'll all be all right." There had been an attempt to make that reassuring that didn't work.

Lindsey called Spike's bluff with just a stare.

"Look, okay, customer relations not exactly my strong point." Running a hand over his hair, Spike scratched the back of his neck and gave Lindsey a half-smile -- the kind of smile that made the room a little warmer and the pants a little tighter. "I know every way in or out and no mere mortal girl is going to do the things our friend mentioned in her journal thing. I'll keep you safe."

Lindsey looked away, shifting his weight slightly, and said, "Yeah, well... just watch my back."

The vampire kind of nodded and started fishing around his coat, probably for some cigarettes. Then he stopped, cocked his head. Listening. It reminded Lindsey of a hunting dog or maybe a cat, catching a scent, hearing something. Next thing Lindsey knew, Spike was shuffling him quietly behind a black curtain at the side of the stage, whispering quietly. "Someone's coming from the back, trying to be quiet -- too quiet."

There was a brief flash of fear, even though Lindsey tried to tell himself that it wasn't warranted. "What do you want me to do?" he whispered.

"Just keep out of sight while I check it out." The black curtain fell in front of Lindsey's face. There was the hum of the stage light, the wrrrr of a refrigerator, and maybe, maybe a tapping, like high heels on a wooden floor. Nothing that sounded like Spike.

There was a whoosh like another curtain being pulled aside. "Well, well, what do we have here? Do you work here, Miss..." Spike let it trail, obviously wanting the 'Miss' to fill in the blank.

When the girl spoke, she sounded more defiant than nervous, full of the-world-owes-me the way most people under the age of 20 were. "I'm here to see the show," she said. Then, with forced apology, "I guess, um, maybe I got turned around a little bit."

Spike's boots, which had been silent before, suddenly sounded like lead weights. "Yeah, most people tend to come in through the front door, during open hours, you know, after showing the bouncer their I.D." There was a snap as Spike's lighter closed.

Lindsey waited.

"Sorry," the girl said. "I kind of came a long way, and I didn't want to be late. I didn't think it would be a big deal." She cleared her throat, then asked, "So do you, like, work here?"

"When they pay me." Lindsey could almost feel Spike shrug. "So, how long is a long way, and what's such a big attraction that you'd come?" Spike's tone was friendly and definitely carrying an air of indifference.

"Oh, you know... a few hundred miles." She was starting to sound a bit flirtatious now, and Lindsey suspected it might be because she thought that would make it easier to distract Spike. "You do _know_ that Lindsey McDonald is playing here tonight, don't you? I mean, _Lindsey McDonald._ " The way she said his name made a little shiver run down Lindsey's spine.

"Yeah, saw the marquee. What does she sing? Been on the radio?"

Brief stunned silence, and then, "Lindsey's a _he_. I'm, like, his biggest fan."

"Ah, sorry about that. So, biggest fan, you here early looking for a good seat, or maybe hoping for a backstage preview? I'm Spike, by the way, and you are..."

"Ruby," the girl said, and hearing it confirmed was a relief, because if she'd been someone _else_ intent on stalking him that would have just been too much. "And like I said, I mostly just didn't want to be late. Well okay, and _maybe_ it'd be nice to actually catch a glimpse of him before the show."

"Sorry to disappoint, but nobody's here but me. I get the wantin' to see though. I got a list as long as your arm of super models I'd like to run into." Spike gave a self-effacing laugh. "Like I'd do anything but stand there and drool. What d'ya wanta say to 'im?"

There was a longish pause, and then Ruby said, "I don't know. Just... tell him how great I think he is. His voice is _amazing_. Plus he's really hot."

"Well, Ruby, love, hope you get your chance, but I've got to get back to work. 'fraid you're going to have to go and just come back when the club opens."

Ruby sighed audibly, but said, "Okay. I guess I'll go get a cappuccino or something." A shorter pause. "It won't be long now." There was the sound of footsteps.

"Right. You just show me the way you came in, so I get it closed up proper. Earn my keep, ya see." The sounds receded further into the backstage area, followed by the distinctive sound of metal doors closing and locking. Spike's heavy boots returned alone.

"All clear."

Lindsey came out from his hiding place, telling himself firmly that he _hadn't_ been hiding and totally aware that it was a complete lie. He tossed his hair back out of his eyes. "What do you think?" he asked roughly.

"Jailbait. Cagey jailbait. There was something a little menacing in her eyes when I called you a she, but there weren't no reaction at all when I asked her what she wanted to say to you." Spike took a long drag on his cigarette. "Did you get a look?"

Not wanting to admit that he hadn't even thought to try, Lindsey just shook his head. "What's she look like?"

"Red-head, short skirt, high heels, low cut blouse. Like I said, jailbait. But now that I know what to look for, it shouldn't be a big deal. One vamp is more than a match for a human girl." Spike's hand landed heavily on Lindsey's shoulder, obviously intended to reassure him.

It did more than that. Lindsey felt a shiver go through him, and immediately stepped back, breaking the contact. "Good. I mean... good. Last thing I want to have to worry about while I'm playing is what she's up to."

Pursing his lips, Spike dug both his hands into the pockets of his duster. "Right. Sorry my image doesn't scream professional tosser. If you're so worried, maybe you should find someone else."

Lindsey cursed silently. "That's not what I meant."

Restlessly moving around the small stage, Spike didn't seem particularly mollified. In fact, he looked sulky. "You know, I step up, put in some effort to do the _right_ thing, and what do I get from it? Bucket loads of doubt. I could have stayed evil for that. Hell, I could have ripped her head off and washed both our hands of the matter." Spike brushed his palms together in emphasis. "But no. Instead -- " Scratching the back of his head, Spike rested his face against his elbow, as his tone softened. "Instead, maybe I'm dumping my maladjustments on you."

"It sounds like maybe you're forgetting that I'm the one who _asked_ you to do this." Lindsey felt a need to make things right, and not just because he didn't want Spike bailing in the middle of the gig. Or, for that matter, before it even started. "I wouldn't have done that if I didn't think you were up for the job."

Spike chewed on that for a moment or two. "You know, no one ever tells me that. I mean, when apocalypse is at hand, they'll tell you anything to get your help. But usually it's more like, 'Let's chain you in the bathtub to keep you out of trouble.'"

Lindsey blinked. "You were chained in a bathtub?"

"Not one of my more stellar moments. Watcher who got off on a bit of pain and bondage. , he gets away with it by telling the others I was dangerous and might bite someone. Mind you, this was when I had some government issued electronics in m'brain, stopping me from biting period." Spike picked up his empty drink glass and then pushed it aside as he sat at one of the small cabaret tables.

Not knowing how to begin processing this information under the circumstances, Lindsey sank down onto a chair himself. He tried to think of something they might have in common. "Angel doesn't like you very much, does he."

Spike stared. And stared some more. Played with the empty glass. Finally, looked away. "He says he doesn't hate me. Might be easier if he did."

"Hatred's pretty simple," Lindsey agreed. "If it makes you feel any better, he doesn't like me either."

"It's not about the simplicity so much. More like having something to focus on, y'know?" Turning a little, Spike looked at Lindsey. "So, how come you came back to work for the vamp you're not too fond of?"

Lindsey chuckled, but it wasn't the happy kind of chuckle. "He wasn't the one who asked me."

Spike's look was assessing as he rested both arms on the table, leaning on his elbow. "Well now. I suspect that Angel's not gonna send you Christmas greetings. I thought I was the only one sadistic enough to bring the ponce the gift of old enemies."

"It was one of those mutually beneficial arrangements," Lindsey said, hoping he could get away without explaining it in too much detail. "They needed someone who knew the ropes, I thought I could use a change of scenery... everyone's happy. Other than Angel."

"Lilah?"

"No. Wesley." He sighed. "I think Lilah'd have been happier never to see my face again."

Spike chuckled. "And here I thought Watcher-boy was on Angel's side. You know, I think I like you, and it's just icing that the bint doesn't like you either."

"She has reason not to like me," Lindsey said, punctuating it with a little shrug. "And don't get me wrong -- Wesley _is_ on Angel's side. It'd be a big mistake to think he wasn't."

"Why'd you do it though? I mean, are you getting somethin' outta all this good doing?"

Lindsey shrugged half-heartedly, one shoulder twitching. "I could tell you it was all about wanting to make a difference, but... that's only part of it. Kinda missed the big city. And, you know... the perks."

With a half-smile on his face, Spike ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip. "Perks. Yeah, I know what you mean. Sunnydale, a two bar town. Demon dive and the teenie-bopper zone -- nice if you're looking for snacks, but... lacking."

"So you're looking for something a little bit more substantial?" Lindsey met Spike's gaze directly.

"Could be. What kind of perks were _you_ interested in?" There was nothing innocent in Spike's expression.

Lindsey let his eyes flicker down over Spike's body, knowing that the vampire was totally aware of what was going on. "Gets kind of lonely here sometimes. It'd be nice to... have someone to spend time with."

"Heart's beatin' a little faster. Blood's... rising -- closer to the surface. Pretty." Glancing briefly around the room, Spike smiled at Lindsey. "Looks like we got some time on our hands right now."

Standing up, Lindsey dragged his chair over close to Spike's. Sat back down. Their knees were almost touching, and he leaned in until there was only about eight inches between their faces as well. "Spike?" Lindsey said, all honeyed drawl.

The first kiss was slow, almost tentative, but then Spike's tongue was sliding past willing lips. Fingers that could be inhumanly strong were now maddeningly light, teasing Lindsey's thigh near the knee.

Lindsey kept his hands where they were -- didn't even try to touch Spike with anything but his mouth. The last thing he wanted was to be up on stage later, wondering who was the one who wanted who. Wondering if this was just another example of him wanting someone he shouldn't.

With a nip to Lindsey's lip, Spike broke off with a shrug. "Not bad." Any reluctance that Spike's words might have held were belied by the hand making its way up Lindsey's thigh.

"Wow, thanks. Careful you don't smother me with compliments," Lindsey said dryly, sitting still. Waiting to see what Spike did next.

For a few seconds the vampire was calculating, obviously weighing the odds, but then he was grabbing a fistful of Lindsey's button-down shirt and hauling the other man into his lap. There was absolutely nothing hesitant in the next kiss. Spike wasn't long on patience; all the rumors of that had been correct.

Spike's thighs were hard under his -- there wasn't anything soft about Spike actually, and Lindsey was in a position to know that beyond any shadow of a doubt. The vampire tasted like drink and smoke and dust, and the thought made Lindsey shiver, but it didn't prevent him from kissing back enthusiastically.

There was a certain professionalism about the affair. There was no 'coming up for air' because both of them knew what the hell they were doing. There were no coy fingers playing with zippers; there was Spike's hand kneading Lindsey's balls through expensive fabric. Lips and teeth showed little mercy because this wasn't about sweetly kissing a girl; it was about two men fucking each other.

Lindsey groaned softly into Spike's mouth, fingers clutching the thin cotton of Spike's t-shirt and then shoving it up so that he could touch perfect, hard abs. "Jesus," Lindsey gasped, then dove in again for another tooth-clashing kiss.

There were noises escaping Spike that were somewhere between growls and groans. Without notice, Lindsey was pushed out of the embrace and set on his feet. "Strip." Spike was stroking himself through skintight jeans, licking his lips. "That is unless you want to do your show 'Oh Calcutta' style, because I'm gonna shred every piece of cloth off your body in a minute."

"Not enough time," Lindsey said, not sounding very convincing even to his own ears. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and ran a hand over Spike's denim-covered erection, letting the length of it rub against his palm.

Spike suddenly froze and glared at Lindsey. "Look, mate -- I've already got an ex who made it a game to say, 'No, no,' when she meant somethin' else. Don't play that game. Now, what d'ya want?"

Lindsey pulled his hand back slowly and nodded. It was clear from the way Spike was standing that he meant what he'd said -- that this was a sore spot for him, one that shouldn't be played with. "I'm not saying 'no,'" he said carefully, meeting Spike's gaze. "I'm saying 'later.'"

Taking his sweet time, Spike looked at Lindsey's face, assessing like he was trying to figure out if it was the truth or a load of something else. Finally, stuffing his hands back into the pockets of his big damn coat, Spike nodded. "Right. I'm checking doors, having a smoke." His tone wasn't off putting, but it sure as hell wasn't reassuring either. Before Lindsey could say anything else, Spike was stalking off, backstage, lighting a cigarette.

* * * * *

Place wasn't anything fancy; recorded music pumping though the speakers. Jean-clad, blue collar workers, puttin' on their plaid shirts, playing cowboy for the night. It wasn't Spike's normal crowd or preferred music, but it was kinda nice, just kicking back. Wasn't anything like a proper dressing room, so Lindsey was hanging out in back with a bunch of other performers.

With nothing better to do, Spike had taken a spot at the end of the bar and watched the crowd, sipping some JD and wondering what it would taste like warmed up in Lindsey's mouth. Man was talented, almost too talented. Spike still wasn't completely sure that he wasn't being wanked around by all the smooth talk. Sighing, he took another drink. None of this was solving his problems about what the hell he was supposed to be doing with his unlife, but it sure as hell might be more pleasant if lawyer boy came through with those promises his fingers made.

Some guy was up at the microphone, thanking everyone for coming and introducing the first performer, but Spike didn't pay him much attention. Least, not compared to the rest of the people in the room, most of whom were watching the stage eagerly. When the guy -- not Lindsey -- came out onstage and started playing, the music drowned out most of the conversation in the place.

Well, it wasn't a beat you could slam dance to, but based on the people in the room, they were liking it well enough. Opening act wasn't great -- never was. The metal bits on the lead singer's boots were polished so bright that he nearly blinded half the audience every time he tapped his toe. Not that Spike had a helluva lot of experience with cowboys, but it screamed fake. Still, the rips in the tight jeans seemed to be positioned pretty well. Made Spike wonder about Lindsey's stage clothes.

More people were making their way through the front door at a much slower pace now than an hour ago. Spike wasn't spotting any familiar faces. He'd warned the bouncer about an underage red-head, but he wasn't counting on that stopping her, so he started a casual patrol through the edge of the crowd, looking for that one familiar face.

He saw plenty of people, including girls that looked too young to be there, but none of them were Ruby. Which he thought was a bit weird, what with her making such a big deal about wanting to be there early and all. Still, maybe he'd scared her off a bit. Maybe she wouldn't show up.

Nodding to the waitress, Spike stepped backstage and gave the place a quick once over. Nothing. The door that Ruby came in through earlier was still locked. Pretty satisfied that everything was fine, Spike starting heading back to the audience when he caught sight of Lindsey by the stage entrance. Didn't have a care in the world, as he fingered the guitar, playing silently along with the act on the stage.

Spike thought he could use a little of that in his own life.

He watched Lindsey for another minute or so, until the other man suddenly seemed to sense that someone was looking at him and turned his head. Their eyes met, then Lindsey's lips gave a little twitch, not quite a smile, and he nodded his head slightly in a motion that was part acknowledgment, part... something else. Spike wasn't sure he'd have been able to put his finger on it.

Cocking his head off to the side, Spike gave his own half-smile, running his tongue over his lower lip for good measure. A quick look at the people milling about told him that this probably wasn't the time to slide up alongside Lindsey and maybe steal a kiss or three, so instead he ran a slow hand down the front of his jeans, angling towards center.

Lindsey's mouth twitched again, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, then back up at Spike from under that lock of hair that needed taming.

With an audible groan, Spike nodded at Lindsey, letting him know that he had won that round. There was no doubt in Spike's mind that that look he had just gotten would be playing a part in his morning wank for weeks to come. As he ducked back out to join the audience, the place erupted in applause as the opening act struck their final chord.

The crowd began to mill as the stage was being reset, and Spike found his dark corner near the bar again.

Lindsey didn't come out on stage for another fifteen minutes, but when he did, with his guitar slung over his shoulder and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, he looked cocky, ready to take on the world. Normally there was a quiet but not subdued sort of confidence about the man, but up in front of all those people, it became an outward self-confidence that almost could have been considered brash.

He waited as the crowd's volume lowered to a murmur, then said, "Thanks," into the microphone and started to play.

The men were smiling, the women were too, but with a slight sway and bounce that let the observer know that they were excited, hungry for it. Spike himself was drawn, drawn so hard he wanted to fight it, start a scene. It was about so much more than whether or not the music was good. All that cocksure confidence was pure sex on stage; the kind of thing that made you want to touch and follow him. The kind of thing that Angelus'd had when it was boys' night out and he'd been feeling friendly towards William.

The kind of thing that Spike never quite had and was jealous of. His style was much more along the lines of walking up and just askin' if someone fancied a shag. Got you punched nine out of ten times, but the tenth... And if he was doing it right, number ten didn't have to be a one shot deal.

The audience was having a good time, so Spike relaxed on the tall stool, enjoying the show.

Lindsey didn't put any unnecessary energy into the performance -- more like he put everything he _was_ into it, pouring himself out through his throat and into the microphone, his voice smooth as the whisky they'd shared earlier. Fuck, if there was a way for a voice to be a color, Lindsey's was that same clear amber, warm and rich. Gave the impression that he was the most sincere bloke you'd ever wish to meet.

Some time around the fourth song in the set, Lindsey started to sing to Spike. It was so subtle that he didn't think anyone else in the club noticed, but he sure as hell did. Just the occasional little glance in his direction, one note thrusts that made Spike sit up a little bit straighter on the stool.

Spike wanted to know how many more songs, because that determined how much time before he and Lindsey were going to be fucking someplace nearby. It was... it was... Spike wasn't sure what the hell it was, besides damn hot. Then it sunk in. Lindsey singing to him was what he himself had done -- tried to do -- all those years ago at poetry. Nice to know his instincts weren't off in the matter. Nicer still to be on the receiving end of it.

As another song ended, Spike brought his hands together like everyone else, cursing the bint who jumped up, blocking his view, and then realizing that the bint in question was Ruby. How the hell had she gotten in? Still, she was looking relatively well behaved, and she wasn't _too_ close to the stage.

Pushing aside his drink, Spike got to his feet. He moved slowly through the back of the crowd, making his way the long way around, getting closer to the stage.

Problem was, Ruby was moving the same way he was -- not too fast, but determined. She wove her way between people with a sort of grace, something that seemed familiar in an odd sort of way. Despite her appearance, she moved like someone who -- almost -- knew what she was doing with her body, like someone with either training or instinct but not both.

A quick glance at the stage let Spike know that Lindsey wasn't aware of any of this, as he was playing to another corner of the audience. Ruby was damn smooth, sliding up against every guy, giggling with every woman. Progress was something that Spike wasn't making much of. Changing tactics, he started bee-lining for the stage door.

Didn't take him long to push his way backstage and find himself a spot from which he could both see Lindsey and keep an eye on the people up front, which now included Ruby, who had a sparkle in her eye that he didn't like the look of. Still, from where he was she couldn't cause much trouble before he could stop her, and it wasn't as if she was likely to do anything in the middle of the performance anyway.

Lindsey seemed oblivious to Ruby's presence, even though a couple of times Spike caught him glancing in the direction of the bar where he himself'd been sitting earlier. When the current song ended and the screaming and clapping died down, Lindsey murmured a quiet thank you and that the next song would be the last one of the set, then launched into a number that the crowd clearly recognized, if them shouting out the words along with Lindsey was any indication.

There was a nice beat that made you want to dance; if one danced, which Spike didn't admit to, but it was on his mind. Sliding a little closer, he was ready if Ruby decided to rush the stage. Lindsey's passion for the music and the crowd was coming off him in waves. Bloody well owned the room, and the crowd was more than happy to give him their applause. It reminded Spike of some of the things he liked about being a vampire, feeding off all that life. The crowd was pressing harder against the stage, Ruby right out front, but as the final chord was struck, Lindsey jumped off his stool, holding out his guitar and obstructing Spike's view.

He started to move forward immediately, but before he could get far Lindsey backed away from the edge of the stage, still probably looking casual and relaxed to the crowd, even though Spike thought he could see a line of tension in his shoulders. Lindsey gave a brief wave to the crowd, just a lifting of one hand really, then turned his head and saw Spike.

Lindsey headed toward him. "Guess she turned up after all," he said roughly, voice hoarser than it'd been before.

This wasn't the first time that Spike had to play defender, but he suspected that Lindsey wasn't going to be comforted the same way that Dru or Dawn would be by a hug and a peck on the forehead. When Lindsey got close, Spike used a protective hand to turn the other man back towards the audience.

"Yeah, that's her. Sassy little red head, right up front -- " Nervous tension filled Spike's body, and he felt the same radiating out of Lindsey. "Fuck. She's gone again. Look, you wait back here. I'm going back up front, make sure she gets out the front door."

* * * * *

Lindsey, still flushed with the heat of success that being onstage always provided, nodded at Spike and tried to swallow down tension. He watched Spike head out into the main part of the club, then took a deep breath and tossed his hair back. Unslung the guitar from over his shoulder and set it down gently in its case. Picked up an opened bottle of water and took a swig.

"Hey, great show." Caught with his mouth full, Lindsey gave an awkward smile, nodding his thanks. Cute little red-head toting around a stage light and a small cooler. Pulling off the lid of the cooler, she reached in and held out a second bottle of water.

It was then that Lindsey noticed that she was dressed a lot nicer than the other stage hands. This was her -- had to be. Where the hell Spike was was another question entirely, but... hell, he could handle one girl. Couldn't he? What was the better route to go -- confront her, or pretend that he didn't know who she was? Stalling, Lindsey reached out slowly and took the bottle of water she was offering. "Thanks." He tried to let his eyes widen slightly in a way that might look natural, then asked, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't know. I just got to L.A., but I saw from your bio that you've been all over the U.S.. I really like your show. Record companies are crazy for not snapping you right up." An adoring grin filled Ruby's face as she swayed gently with both hands on the yoke of the light, probably trying to keep up appearances.

"Thanks," Lindsey said again, still stalling for time. "So... you're not from around here?"

Ruby took a half-a-step closer. "No, I'm new to the big city. I could use a guide."

He held his ground. It wasn't like anything could happen, right? There were a hundred people in the club easy, maybe two. "Pretty young thing like you... I'm sure you could find someone to show you around." Flattery always worked. Right?

Her eyes brightened up, like a kid at Christmas. "You volunteering?"

Lindsey opened the bottle of water she'd handed him and held it up to his mouth but didn't really swallow any. "Sure," he lied. "I mean, I'm a busy guy -- this gig's just my night job -- but I could probably make some time. For you." He wasn't sure how genuine he sounded.

"That would be _so_ cool!" That innocent looking desire in her eyes faded to something different as Ruby eyed the water bottle with unchecked anticipation. "Those lights are really hot, must dry a body out."

"Yeah." Lindsey took another fake sip and then glanced around with what he hoped was subtlety. Where the hell was Spike?

Ruby was vibrating ever so slightly in excitement. "So, any suggestions for a girl looking for a place to spend the night? Oh -- " She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, I've got a place to stay, but lots of noisy roommates and, well, maybe not the best apartment in town."

Okay, this was ridiculous.

Lindsey took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was just a girl. For whatever reason, he'd let himself get all worked up about her, but really, what could she do? He was a good bit bigger than her, and smarter to boot. "I know who you are," he told her.

The smile faded slowly from her face, the energy still dancing over her skin as she shifted from one foot to the other, still juggling the heavy light. "Really? I mean, we just met."

"I've seen your website."

"Oh." It was small, quiet. Ruby hadn't been expecting that revelation. She started swinging the light back to front, one handed, effortlessly. Lindsey had toted those around before -- at least fifteen pounds, and this one was loaded with extra hardware to control the light. "I'm your biggest fan." Simple, matter of fact, with an edge that screamed psychopath.

"So I've read." Her obvious strength was telling him loud and clear that maybe she wasn't just a girl -- and previous experience with stuff like that gave Lindsey his fear back, just when he needed it least.

He took half a step back, but Ruby, quick as lightning moved forward, at the same time swinging the light toward his head. There was no chance he could get out of the way in time, but Lindsey started to duck instinctively, and...

A hand reached over Lindsey's shoulder and wrestled the light to a standstill. Ruby looked pissed. Spike looked more so, but what was more important was that overconfident cock-sure attitude was now working for Lindsey.

"That's not very friendly, Ruby. Not polite to break people." Spike shoved the light back towards Ruby, knocking her on her ass. "Now, what d'ya say I escort you outside?"

She looked scared as she stuck out a trembling hand.

Lindsey took another step backward, adrenaline pouring through him like he hadn't felt in a long time. "I told you I knew who you were," he said stupidly.

Reaching out a hand for the girl, Spike glanced at Lindsey. "You alright, mate?"

While his head was turned, Ruby pulled herself up inhumanly quick and kept going, shoving a shoulder into Spike's gut like a line-backer, knocking the vampire backwards. Some combination of shock, anger or pain brought Spike into full game face.

"Bloody hell, nobody your size has hit me like that since..." There was a sudden realization spreading across Spike's features.

Ruby took a tentative step towards Lindsey, apparently shocked by Spike's transformation. "See! See, I'm only doing this to protect you! They're out there. This one was under your nose and you didn't even know it!"

She was too fast and too strong, and Lindsey moved away from her again, putting Spike in between them. "I know what he is."

There was a tightening across Spike's shoulders from Lindsey's words.

"Yeah, 'spect we all know what I am. And if I'm not missin' my guess, Ruby here is one of the potentials that became a slayer." Ruby was looking confused, but was moving carefully, obviously looking for a way around Spike. "Come on, Ruby, let me guess -- one girl in the whole high school that can kick everybody else's ass?"

She froze and looked at Spike like he was something that had crawled out from under a rock.

"What do you know?" Ruby said, her expression darkening. "You're just a... a _thing_. You're not even alive. You don't know _anything_ about me."

What Spike had said before finally sunk in, and Lindsey blinked. "She's a slayer?"

"What the hell is a slayer? I'm just a girl who knows what she wants." She whipped around, snatching up a push broom, swinging the heavier bristled end towards Spike's mid-section. Neatly evading, Spike grabbed a mop, the dried cotton strands fluttering listlessly.

"Like this." Spike held out the mop like it was a quarter staff. "A slayer is the one girl -- well, used to be the one girl but now there's a whole lot of you. One of the girls destined to take out vamps and demons and other creepy crawlies. 'Cept it ain't always that simple."

Ruby looked unimpressed and swung her broom again. There was a loud bang as Spike neatly blocked the attack and with a quick move of his own sent the improperly held weapon crashing to the floor. Ruby was breathing hard, red-faced, staring at Spike and glancing at Lindsey, obviously wondering why he wasn't doing anything.

"Go on." Spike nodded at the fallen broom. "Pick it up again, and this time hold it right."

Lindsey watched in mild disbelief as Ruby did as instructed, looking uncertain. She swung the broom with even less coordination this time -- the end went wide and Spike barely had to move to block the blow.

"Move your hands closer to the middle; find the balance point. Hard with that bit swingin' on the end, but it's not like every weapon you pick up is Excaliber right from the stone." Spike's face had faded back to human, and much of the tension had faded from his body. No way was he relaxed, but there was no wariness of the unknown now.

Ruby looked at her hands, shifting them, and without looking up took a good swing at Spike's head. There was a grace and tightness across Spike's arm and shoulder as he blocked the blow; the girl was strong. "Not bad. Someone taught you how to fight a little dirty -- s'good. You'll survive longer that way."

"But I... why are you doing this?" Ruby's uncertainty could be heard in her voice now too.

Spike stopped. "There's a question now, isn't it? I mean, there's some things I could say, true things mind you. Stalkin' slayers was a hobby once. Coat's a trophy from the toughest woman to ever walk the streets of New York. This," Spike used the end of the mop to gesture at his scarred eyebrow. "Souvenir from a Chinese girl during the Boxer Rebellion."

Ruby frowned. "That was like a hundred years ago!"

"We're immortal, no one told you that? Course not. No soddin' watchers left, and even if there were, probably not enough for all the slayers out there. None of that matters anyway. You want to know why I'm doing it; I read your website. Saw what you had planned for Lindsey here."

"So you're teaching me to fight?"

"I'm showing you how to be a slayer -- bloody champions you lot are. The scars I can't show you were all for another slayer, _the_ slayer. She taught me that no matter how badly you want it, you can't force someone else to love you."

Ruby stopped now, staring right past Spike at Lindsey's face. She was pleading with her eyes.

"He's right," Lindsey said gruffly. He didn't know the details of what Spike was talking about, but he knew what it was like to want someone to love you. To realize that no matter what you did, you couldn't force them to. With Darla's face in his mind's eye, he continued, "It doesn't matter how big a fan you are."

There was a clatter, barely audible over the din of the club, as Ruby's broom hit the ground and she rushed passed Spike, who let her by, and right at Lindsey. Tears were pouring out of her eyes. "Please, please..." she begged, getting up close but not trying to touch him.

Lindsey blinked at Spike, his heart racing. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

Spike turned around, keeping an eye on Ruby and trying to reassure Lindsey with his eyes. "We're explaining to Ruby that there's more to life than your useless arse." Ruby turned on Spike, glaring, but didn't move away from Lindsey.

"Oh. Right." That didn't clear up a hell of a lot, but Lindsey was usually pretty quick on his feet. Quicker than this. "Yeah, Spike's right. I'm not... I'm not worth all this trouble."

"Think about it, Ruby. You could be enjoying the life in England right now, learning a trade, being praised for all that muscle and speed. I could too for that matter, or at least teaching I suppose. 'Course, I'm more or less lazy and don't want to make something of my undead life, so here I am with what's his face." Spike stuck out his tongue when Lindsey glared.

Ruby for her part, rubbed the back of her hand along her eyes.

Lindsey didn't, he told himself, feel the slightest urge to try to comfort her. The girl was nuts, pure and simple. He didn't care if she was a slayer or the second coming of Christ, she'd hatched a plan that left him feeling a little bit weak in the knees, and not in the good way. "You have somewhere she could go?" he asked Spike, rather than talking to Ruby directly.

"Might, if Ruby here is up for it."

"You're making it up." Ruby rounded on Spike, stalking forward. "You're just trying to keep us apart."

"Love, look at him. You were never together. That what you want? Chase after a man who ain't even lookin'?" Ruby was completely stiff, but didn't fight when Spike turned her around to look at Lindsey.

He held up both hands, palms facing her. It was instinct -- showing that he had nothing to hide, rather than that he wasn't a threat -- and so was what he said. "I'm not interested." His voice was low, soothing. "And you won't convince me to be. No matter what you do."

There was something in Ruby's face, a glimmer of understanding.

But only for an instant, before she slammed an elbow into Spike's gut and charged Lindsey, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him towards the door to the back parking lot.

Lindsey's first thought -- good idea, showing her how to fight, Spike -- was quickly overshadowed by his second -- shit, the girl was so _strong_. It didn't matter that she was untrained, or that she didn't know how to use her strength to its best advantage. It only mattered that struggling didn't do a damned bit of good.

"Right. We can do this the hard way." Lindsey didn't have a chance to respond to Spike's voice before he found himself being shoved outside by not only Ruby but also his supposed bodyguard.

Suddenly released, Lindsey fought to get his footing as Spike sucker punched the girl, sending her onto the tarmac. But only momentarily -- Ruby was on her feet and charging for the head butt; girl was like a damned defensive lineman.

It wasn't more than a few minutes before it was obvious that Lindsey was getting his money's worth out of Spike. Graceful, almost serenely, he dodged the clumsy blows, landing one punch after another.

The fight circled to the left in an arc, then back toward the right again, Lindsey backing up toward the building and trying to stay out of the way. He was tempted to pick up something and get behind Ruby, sort of pitch in, but she was so quick that he figured he'd just end up getting himself in trouble.

Spike was looking a little rough around the edges, Ruby more so, but she didn't have the look of someone who was about to stop soon. With one hand scratching behind his ear, Spike worried at his lower lip with his teeth.

"Ruby, you're not listening." Spike's voice was calm, relaxed.

Ruby, not so much. "You're the one not listening! We're meant for each other."

Spike was nodding. Lindsey was confused, but only for a second, because the next thing he knew he was being pressed hard against the wall, and Spike's tongue and lips were raping his mouth.

His first instinct was to push Spike away, but at the same time his body reacted strongly, his mind realized that Spike was trying to make a point. Hoping that Ruby wasn't going to stake the vampire from behind, Lindsey poured himself into the kiss, letting a hand slide down to cup Spike's ass.

The buck of Spike's hips was one of those involuntary reflexes, not something that was staged for the benefit of underage girls. On the other hand, the grind of denim against denim was intentional and in its wake there was heat and hardness.

With a growl, Spike's head snapped around, full game face, but Lindsey was still pinned to the wall by one hand on his hip and another trying to grope its way through his shirt. Ruby was a few steps closer that she'd been, and obviously that was what had sent Spike into code red.

"That... That's, like, well, gross. And... well, kinda hot, but... Those writers that do stories about you and Justin Timberlake are right?"

Spike fell to the ground laughing his goddamned English ass off.

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and shooting Spike a look of mild irritation, Lindsey stayed where he was, watching Ruby warily. "Right about what? That I like guys? Yeah." Probably best to keep quiet about the fact that he liked girls too.

Ruby's shoulders slumped, and she looked... young. Which she was. "But... I thought..."

Lindsey nodded. "Yeah, but that's not gonna happen. Look, I'm sure you're a nice person when you're not playing stalker... just, next time have the sense to fall for someone real. Someone who can love you back."

Standing up, Spike dusted off the sleeve of his coat and fished out a pack of cigarettes. "Ruby, I wasn't lying about there being other girls like you. World needed some extra heroes, so bunches of you were called. Could hook you up."

Ruby was still looking hard at Lindsey, obviously thinking, then she started inspecting the tip of her toe. "That's not what I came here for." Turning away, she walked about ten feet and sat on the bumper of a car. Both men watched her, Spike taking a step closer to Lindsey.

"She's certifiable," Lindsey said very quietly. "Would these people even take her?"

"Sixteen, certifiable." Spike shrugged. "Sometimes there's not a lot of difference. Believe me, they've faced worse." Taking a long drag, Spike looked thoughtful. "It's the right thing. If we don't find her a home, she's going to do something like this again. Next time, someone might decide that a slayer's too much of a prize or too much of a pain in the arse."

"Trust my luck to land me in the middle of something like this," Lindsey said. "I can't just have faithful admirers, they have to be insane and slayers to boot."

Ruby had lifted her head and was watching them. "Am I really that bad?" she asked. There were layers of pain in her voice that Lindsey was more than capable of understanding.

"It doesn't have anything to do with you," Lindsey told her. "It's me. Well, and your delivery leaves a lot to be desired."

Ruby stood up, somewhere between angry and upset. "I just -- " Sitting down on the bumper again, she just looked sad. "What's the point? I mean, if you're a guy and strong and can hit things when you throw, it's all good. Football captain or lettermen jackets and all that other macho bullshit." Her foot connected with an empty beer can, an echo of empty metal accompanying it across the parking lot. "If you're a girl, it's all different. And no one appreciates it." Her sullen eyes looked directly at Lindsey again.

"There's nothing wrong with being strong," he pointed out. "It's when you go after people that it starts getting weird."

"I wasn't -- " Ruby was glancing between Lindsey and the ground. "I wasn't going to do all those things. Most of it was just talking because people were, you know, 'he'll never even look at you.' I wanted to go for something with all I had."

"Doesn't seem like you have a lot of trouble doing that," Lindsey said, rubbing what he was sure was going to be a bruise on the arm she'd grabbed earlier.

"I'm sorry." It was simple and quiet.

"Seems to me like if you are, you'll do something about it." Lindsey looked at her steadily. "Do something with your life."

For a moment, Ruby looked like she was going to open her mouth and start whining again, but then she looked at Spike.

"What was that thing about England?"

* * * * *

Stopping part way down the hallway, Spike rummaged through the brown paper bag, fairly sure that the clerk at the store forgot to put in the crisps. But no, there they were, looking inadequate. Beer and snacks --not exactly what he used to call a proper pressie, but then again, when had he started thinking of this as a pressie? Right, it was about giving Lindsey the update and maybe a nice chat.

Bloody hell.

Holding the bag one-handed, Spike let it drop to his side. The interesting night on the town had ended with him playing babysitter to an antsy slayer and Lindsey heading home alone and avoiding Wolfram & Hart for the day. So it was almost a day later, and Spike was feeling a dollar short on rekindling whatever the fuck they'd had when there was a bit danger in the air.

Right. If nothing else, Lindsey owed him money, so Spike marched up, leaned against the jamb and knocked.

After a long minute or two, the door opened. Lindsey was rumpled like he'd spent part of the day asleep on the couch. He was wearing jeans with torn knees and a thin t-shirt that had clearly seen better years. "Spike," he said. He didn't sound surprised, but something around his eyes gave it away. "Where's the girl?"

"LAX about now -- boarding a plane heading for merry ol' England." Spike looked Lindsey up and down, liking his not-lawyer wear. The stuff was broken in, well used. Sure, something that some trendy yuppie could get at a "'vintage' shop, but this stuff was creased in worn to fit Lindsey's body. Authentic.

One of the only things Spike hated about being a vampire was the invisible barrier that was between him and Lindsey right now. Couldn't feel it, not even a prickle, and he wouldn't move the centimeter to confirm that it was there. Torture when all of his other vamp-enhanced senses were on alert from body heat and the fading smell of fear.

"Thought you'd want to know."

"Yeah... thanks." Lindsey rubbed a hand over the lower part of his face, then seemed to notice the bag in Spike's hand. "Sorry. You want to come in?" He gestured back into the flat behind him.

"You're looking decidedly worse for wear." Stepping in, Spike allowed the leather of his coat to brush up against Lindsey's worn cotton. He knew that the whole rekindling thing wasn't an issue for him anymore, but Lindsey looked like he needed some encouragement. "Brought us some something to drink and snack on."

Lindsey stood where he was for another few seconds, then closed the door. "You want to watch the game?" he asked, massaging the back of his neck tiredly.

Well, more exciting than cricket, but with sweaty men on steroids, spitting, grabbing their crotches, hurling balls at each other and swinging weapons -- except that the violence never really lived up to that description. Still... there was the crotch grabbing. Actually, none of that was going to make Spike enjoy a baseball game, but there was the potential of doing more than sitting on the couch. "Sure. Who's playing?"

Sinking down at the far end of the couch, Lindsey glanced at him and pointed at the screen. "Who's on first," he said, with a little quirk of his lips.

Spike frowned. "Uh... base, right? I don't know." Taking a spot in the middle of the couch, but not unduly close to Lindsey, Spike unloaded his bag of goodies on the coffee table, sliding a beer Lindsey's way.

"No, he's on third," Lindsey said, like it was supposed to clear up any confusion. He opened the beer and took a swig.

Dropping his cap so that it rattled on the table, Spike sat back. He was usually better than this at getting the rules to games. "Third? I thought you were asking about who's on first?" Reclined comfortably, legs spread wide, two blokes on a Friday afternoon. Of course, the only part of this that Spike cared about was their knees, almost touching.

And bloody hell if he wasn't wondering if someone's mum would be popping in to chaperone this seemingly Victorian date -- god, at least he hoped it was a date, or something like it. Spike took a long pull on his beer.

"No, I was telling you." Lindsey's knee shifted out to the side a little bit more, bumping into Spike's. "And yeah, who is on first."

"What?" Spike's face contorted in confusion because the conversation was in some demon tongue that he didn't understand. Then he notice that was Lindsey's knee touching his. Infuriating blighter was smiling, and Spike liked that. Pretty mouth. Relaxing, he had another sip and rested the bottle between his legs, using that as an excuse to shift a little closer.

Lindsey's lips twisted into something like a grin, maybe. "What's on second," he said, with a little raise of his eyebrows.

Holding back an expletive, a slow smile came to Spike's face. Raising his beer in salute, Spike slid his arm along the back of the sofa, behind Lindsey. "I obviously need more education in this game. See, I get that usually you've got to go to first and stop, then you get to go to second. But, rumor has it that there's ways to get lots of bases at once." Spike slid his hand along Lindsey's thigh. "How would a bloke do that?"

The sideways look Lindsey gave him was shuttered, wary, but there was no mistaking the way his slouch became more pronounced, causing Spike's hand to slide a little bit higher on his thigh. "Gotta hit a home run," Lindsey said, with a lock of hair falling into his face. Looked like he'd already been well-fucked and was stretching into the aftermath like a cat caught in a sunbeam.

Suddenly, Spike realized that his only purpose in this fucked up afterlife was to break Lindsey -- not in a bad way. Wanted to watch that all that self-confidence crumble into desperate need because of his cock and mouth. His beer bottle hit the table with a gentle thunk. Instead of sitting back, Spike spun and straddled Lindsey's leg, marking a trail on the thigh with his denim-clad cock.

"Do you knock the ball over the wall and it's done, or do you have to do somethin' special?"

Spike didn't give Lindsey a chance to answer and instead brought their mouths together for a hard kiss.

He could feel Lindsey's brief resistance and surprise in the tautness of the thigh underneath him, then the other man relaxed into the kiss. Didn't mean he didn't give as good as he got though, or at least try to -- his hands on Spike's upper arms were rough, and when he pulled back there was a gleam in his eye that Spike liked the look of.

"Important to hit all the bases first," Lindsey drawled, the casual tone of his voice disturbed by the slight pant of his breathing.

"I can do that. First base, snogging and feeling up." Spike's hands were already headed to Lindsey's lap as his mouth moved down for another kiss.

Lindsey bucked under his touch, pushing his own already-hard cock up against Spike's palm needily. "Kind of jumping the gun there, aren't you?" he managed to ask. "I think this is... first and second put together."

Nipping Lindsey's lip, Spike pressed a little harder. "Footie lovin' Brit here, don't know the rules to your game. 'Sides, ain't there stealing involved somehow?" There was a scent of arousal; maybe tinged with fear, maybe not. What was more entrancing was the scent of Lindsey's sweat, all male.

"So that's what you're doing? Stealing bases?" Lindsey sank his teeth into Spike's lower lip without warning, not breaking the skin but causing a sharp sting of pain. The scent of -- yeah, definitely fear -- increased slightly, washing over Spike, fascinating him.

"Mm -- like that. So what happens when you get caught, red card?" Next move was key. Sometimes the fear was all there was. But somehow Spike knew that there was more here.

"You get caught, you're out." Lindsey's eyes were dark. "You want some legal advice?"

"Got my complete attention." Bloody well did too, those eyes pulling him in just as sure as the voice was.

Warm lips brushed over his, then murmured, "Don't get caught."

Quirking an eyebrow, Spike eased Lindsey back into the cushions, their mouths hard against each other. With a slow steady grind, he moved his erection up Lindsey's body. One hand was massaging Lindsey's hard on. The other tangled itself in the other man's hair, pulling it back and exposing his throat with the blood and fear so close to the surface.

Lindsey groaned, the sound of it going straight to Spike's cock. Spike could hear the other man's heart hammering in his chest, fuck, could practically _see_ it in the fluttering of the pulse point on his bared throat.

Up the left side, Spike traced a line from collar bone to jaw with his tongue. Nipping the bone, he moved back down, sucking the soft skin beneath Lindsey's chin. It was so tempting, the throbbing pulse so close. Lindsey was thrusting hard into him. Letting his face shift, Spike grazed his fangs along the soft flesh he'd just kissed.

He felt Lindsey shudder underneath him, felt the shifting staccato rhythm of his heartbeat as it stepped up the pace, but despite the increased scent of fear, Lindsey tilted his head back further, just the tiniest bit. "Go ahead," Lindsey said roughly.

"Fuck." Spike could feel the anticipation rippling close to his skin. So long, so fucking long. Oh god, and the soul was screaming. But god, they both wanted it. With practiced grace, his tongue and lips sucked at the jugular, making it rise and throb a bit harder. Almost delicately, Spike's fangs sank in.

Lindsey was quiet as the first warm taste of human blood in many months filled Spike's mouth, the only sound in the room his faint but labored breathing. One of his hands was on Spike's shoulder, holding on firmly, like he needed an anchor.

With a groan, Spike bit down and sucked hard, but he was careful, trying to be gentle if there was such a thing. It was like a fat steak in front of a starving man; like that starving man, Spike was considering eating it in one mouthful. Thick and hot and sex and fear. God, Lindsey was holding on too.

"Jesus," Lindsey said, low and grating, like salt in an open wound, and Spike could feel the rasp of vocal chords against his tongue and the answering echo in his groin. It was a heartbeat he'd never have again, a pulse that indicated life and breath and memories.

Spike swallowed and bucked hard into Lindsey's hip. An age ago, he'd have gotten off humping the body while draining it dry, and it was so bloody tempting. Forcing himself to shift back, Spike licked the wound. "Bloody well taste good. Wanna do me now? Because god help me if you don't, I may go back to that and not stop."

Something passed behind Lindsey's eyes at that, confusion and lust rolled into one. Then eager hands caught at the back of Spike's head, fingers tangling in his short hair and not really finding purchase there, and Lindsey kissed him hard, tongue probing his mouth like he was looking for a taste of his own blood.

Spike opened up, relaxing into the assault and moving his own mouth to give Lindsey whatever the fuck he wanted. Reluctantly, he pulled his hands off the firm and hard of Lindsey's chest and cock, so he could shrug off the duster. Pulling off his shirt left them both gasping for breath as the kiss was interrupted. So beautiful. Heart racing, blood staining his neck and a bit of the t-shirt, with a swollen fuckable mouth and an intensity of his eyes that reminded Spike just a little of Angelus.

Lindsey's fingers were at Spike's nipples, rubbing them roughly. When their next kiss broke, he said, "You want me to fuck you, is that it?"

The 'no' was forming on his lips out of instinct. 'Top dog' was a relatively literal concept among most vamps, and Spike hadn't allowed himself to bottom since before China. Said something about Lindsey that Spike wanted to do it now. Pushing his chest more firmly into Lindsey's hands, he growled, "Yes."

A long, quiet moment, and then Lindsey's hands urged Spike to move. When Lindsey took his own shirt off, baring his chest, a small trickle of blood escaped the wound on his throat and ran down, a warm red line traveling just to the side of one nipple that caught Spike's attention inexorably. Lindsey undid the fastenings of Spike's jeans, pushing them just far enough out of the way so that he could wrap impossibly hot fingers around Spike's aching cock.

It was too much temptation all around to resist. Bending his head, Spiked lapped momentarily at Lindsey's nipple before sucking it into his mouth for a nibble. Thrusting his hips in response to the hand squeezing him hard, Spike licked the sticky sweet trail from pec to jaw.

Lindsey groaned and arched his back, shoving his own still-covered cock against Spike's thigh. "Might be illegal, how good you are with your mouth..."

Spike demonstrated by taking Lindsey's lower lip into his mouth, biting and sucking. His hands worked at Lindsey's jeans, freeing the thick member and sliding back the foreskin to run teasing fingers over the head, already slick with precome.

"Jesus," Lindsey growled again, like it was a word he was finding a whole new meaning for. His free hand slid around to cup Spike's ass. "Making me crazy," he said, with his lips almost touching Spike's.

The denim was worn thin in places, and Spike resisted the urge to shred what were obviously the man's favorite jeans. When Lindsey's hips were free, there was a squeeze and a pull, Lindsey pulling Spike in tight, their erections grinding into the hollows and hard muscle of each other's abs. All the while, Lindsey was tongue fucking Spike's mouth.

"Want to be inside you. Need to," Lindsey muttered, moving back reluctantly and just enough to get rid of the old jeans and help Spike take off his. "How do you want to do this?" His teeth nipped at Spike's throat, sharp and determined.

Spike growled and tilted his head, exposing his throat more "Harder." His hand trailed down Lindsey's back until his fingers were trailing lightly over his sculpted arse. "Not bloody well thinking now; take me how you want."

Lindsey bit down harder, bruising flesh, his tongue hot against the sensitive skin of Spike's throat. "Sit down," he ordered, low and grating. He gestured at the couch, bending slightly to push the short table out of the way.

Spike was never going to admit to anyone, living or dead, how much the gravel in Lindsey's voice was a turn on, and how much that voice ordering him around made him want to jump. He didn't move too quickly, but did as he was told, sitting on the edge of the couch, legs spread wide and fisting his cock out of sheer need.

He watched as Lindsey knelt down on the floor, and almost had to close his eyes when big calloused hands ran up the insides of his thighs, rough and casual. Gaze locked onto Spike's, Lindsey brought his hand to his own mouth, sucked his index finger in with an obvious swirl of his tongue to wet it, then slid that finger's tip down behind Spike's balls, teasing at flesh so sensitive it made Spike's cock twitch.

Anticipation made him squirm and plant both hands firmly along the back of the couch. "God, do it."

One more teasing circle was drawn, then he felt that familiar push, more gentle than he was used to. Lindsey's finger felt bigger than it looked though, moving deep inside him, brushing over the spot that made him gasp. Lindsey rotated his hand, then surprised Spike by leaning down and taking Spike's balls into his mouth, rolling them with his tongue.

"Oh Christ!" There was a hard suck followed by a gentle nip, making Spike want to fly out of his skin. As it was, he bucked, and in the process slid down the couch a little further until his arse was hanging off just a bit. Lindsey looked like the cat lapping cream as he released one ball and took the other into his mouth. "Good, so good."

Lindsey's finger pulled out and then thrust in again just as slowly, just as deep. His tongue slid lower, then replaced his finger, licking, pushing inside, making everything warm and wet. Spike could tell from the slick wet sound he heard that Lindsey was stroking his own cock, spreading his fluids as he got ready for what would come next.

The smell of Lindsey was stronger in the air, scent of blood mixing with come. Spike wanted to devour him and didn't care if he started at throat or cock, bloody wanted to taste him and feel that slick hard erection spreading him wide. Wanted to bite through the tongue that was making him squirm. "Need you now. Don't feel obliged to be dainty."

Maybe that was what Lindsey'd been waiting to hear, because in a flash he was half covering Spike with his body, the blunt head of his cock nudging Spike's entrance. "Don't think dainty's in my vocabulary," he said, gritting his teeth.

Spike wasn't in a position to push forward like he desperately wanted to, but there was no need. The stroke was direct and deep, hard enough to hurt a human but only the beginning of the sensations that Spike was hoping to feel. Unable to hold his hands back any longer, Spike reached out to stroke sweat-slick flesh, pausing to tug on Lindsey's nipples.

Lindsey's hands were on Spike's hips, and as he thrust forward again he jerked Spike toward him, impaling him fully. Hard human lips came down on his own; a small grunt escaped Lindsey on the next thrust. "You want to bite me again?" he growled, pulling back far enough so their eyes met.

Squeezing with his lower muscles, Spike bucked his hips looking for even more contact. His tongue reached up, swiping Lindsey's mouth, but the question in the other man's eyes wasn't going away. "Fuck yeah, want to drain you. Not exactly safe."

"Bet you think about it..." Lindsey thrust harder, his eyes closing briefly, "all the time, don't you."

It was one of those things that never really stopped, one of those things that Spike controlled and Lindsey was looking to take away. "Had a house full of almost slayers. Teenaged girls. Wasn't a moment that wasn't filled with hormones, and there was always one of going through her courses. Like a starving man in a banquet is how I look at all of you." Felt good how Lindsey's cock was opening him, hurt in just the right way. Spike's hands were on Lindsey's head, trying to pull him into a kiss.

Lindsey put up a token resistance, then moved in and kissed him fiercely, crushing their mouths together, hips continuing their deep thrusts. "So why are you letting me fuck you?" Lindsey shuddered, like just asking the question had pushed him closer to the edge.

Spike was bloody hell not answering that question. Prodding into area best left alone. His hand in Lindsey's hair tightened, pulling the man into a deeper kiss, biting and thrusting his tongue into the warm depths. And there was the blood again, fresh on the newly torn lip. Despite himself, Spike gently sucked on it and moaned.

"Can't help yourself, can you." It wasn't a question, but it sounded more like understanding than a rebuke.

"Why do you want me to?" Spike let out a pent up breath, and licked Lindsey's lip.

Lindsey shuddered again, and Spike could feel the cock in his arse pulse briefly as the man tried to hold back from coming. "I like you like this," he said finally, his voice rough around the edges. "You think you're in control, but you're not."

Spike could feel his own cock twitch, knowing all too well how he liked getting off on danger. What he was finding that he liked more was Lindsey appreciating him for the menace he could be. Reaching out with both hands, he pulled down Lindsey's head so that he could lick the puncture wounds.

The hard thrusts faltered for a beat or two, then steadied again. He could feel Lindsey trembling, fine pulse of heartbeat fluttering under his lips and tongue. "Jesus, Spike..."

"Tell me how much you want it." Spike wasn't sure who was in control, but he knew what he wanted.

"Just do it," Lindsey said harshly. "Don't fuck around."

Fast. Hard. Fangs came down and sunk in deep and hard. Spike's universe reduced itself to desperate points of pleasure. Lindsey slamming into him hard, in just the right way. His own hips, bucking, desperate to get any friction on his throbbing cock. Hot blood swelling into his mouth. Spike growled into Lindsey's throat, holding the other man's head in place.

Lindsey thrust harder -- so hard that the couch slid across the floor several inches -- and then Spike felt a big warm hand close around his cock and squeeze, just before Lindsey gave a stifled groan and came, throbbing inside of Spike like he was going to split him open.

Hadn't been this raw in a long, long time. His hips took up a wild rhythm, thrusting into Lindsey's hand. "Fuck!" Spike had pulled his head up, but held onto Lindsey. Things were snapping free inside and unwinding in hard pulses as Spike came, making the two of them slick.

"Fuck is right," Lindsey panted, dropping down on top of Spike, his weight heavy but comfortable. "Holy... fuck."

Spike was panting, and not exactly seeing out of his eyes. Turning Lindsey's head gently, he lapped at the wounds. "You like steak?"

There was a muffled choking sound, then Spike realized that Lindsey was laughing. "Yeah," he said between chuckles. "I like steak."

"Good." Spike licked Lindsey from collarbone to jaw before bringing their mouths together for a tired kiss. "Need to feed you up right for when we do this again."

Still inside him, Lindsey pushed forward slightly. "What, you're not ready to go another round right now?"

Spike grinned at the male posturing, not surprised that Lindsey was that kind of bloke. They both groaned softly as the other man pulled out and turned, collapsing onto the couch next to Spike with one wrist draped over Spike's thigh.

* * * * *

Lindsey just sat there for a while, listening to his heart pound in his ears and then eventually quiet, feeling the slightly rough fabric of the couch under his ass and Spike's leg under his arm. "Is this what usually happens after you show up at someone's door with beer and chips?"

Shimmying a bit closer, Spike looked at Lindsey with slightly glazed eyes. "Not really, but that might be 'cause I'm not inclined to do the buying. If I had known..." Spike trailed off with something close to a smile on his face.

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I'm a cheap fuck," Lindsey drawled, reaching out and putting an arm around Spike's shoulders to pull him closer. Apparently he was also a heck of a lot softer than he'd remembered being, but right then he wasn't sure he cared. Then, not wanting Spike to get the wrong idea -- yeah, another example of that soft-hearted thing he had going on -- he added, "This wasn't a thank you. Just so you know."

"I know." Spike said it a little quickly, maybe a little defensively, but then he smiled. "It's about me being irresistible. Besides, you're not gettin' out of payin' me that easy. It would take much, much more than one incredible shag." Spike's fingers played across Lindsey's chest and abdomen.

Lindsey curled slightly into the touch and grinned. "Irresistible, huh? Nice to know you don't have any self esteem problems."

"I'll try to learn from your humble example. Ah," Frowning, Spike turned towards Lindsey, lifting his fingers, which were damp and red. "Still bleeding, pet. We should probably do something about that."

Funny, he'd forgotten all about it. Lindsey brought his own hand up to the place on his throat that, now that he'd been reminded, ached sharply. When he took his hand away to look, the blood was bright red, technicolor compared to the more normal tones of the room. "Yeah," he said. "I've got some stuff in the bathroom." He got to his feet, then swayed slightly as the edges of his vision grayed out.

Strong arms were around Lindsey, settling him back on the couch. "Or maybe you'll stay here, and I'll bring back the bandages." Spike looked good a little blurry, as he moved towards the bathroom.

"I'm fine," Lindsey called after him. It was true -- it had just been one of those brief moments of lightheadedness, totally normal after having donated blood. But instead of going after Spike, he stayed where he was, looking at the blood on his fingers, half mesmerized. The past twenty-four hours didn't look anywhere near as good blurry as Spike did.

It was a relief to know that the girl had gone off to England where people could keep an eye on her. He didn't really think she was crazy, just young and stupid. And young and stupid was something Lindsey remembered well.

The cushions sank a little as Spike settled back next to him on the couch. Wash cloth, antiseptic, bandages -- all very professional, like he had done all this before. There was also quiet, which seemed a little unlike Spike.

Lindsey reached out and grabbed onto Spike's chin, lifting his face until their eyes met. "You okay?"

There was something lost in those eyes, just for a moment. Just as quickly it was replaced by defiance, as Spike turned his head, looking back at the wound. "You're the one with the blood loss; should be asking you that. Can't imagine it's good for you."

"I'm fine," he said again. "Believe me, I've had much worse. Besides, I asked you to do it. I wanted you to."

Sighing, Spike sat back. "I got no idea what right and wrong is anymore. Feels right, all of this, but in a way that says it's gonna come back to haunt us both." Spike looked Lindsey in the eyes. "I got a lotta ghosts."

Lindsey nodded. "Yeah, I get that. Sounds like maybe you're at a crossroads. Time to make a decision." He grimaced as he realized how he sounded, but then, it wasn't like he hadn't been right where Spike was, and not all that long ago either. "Seems to me like you're being handed an opportunity to make a difference -- maybe wipe part of the slate clean."

"Seems to keep coming around to that. Is that what you're doing? Why you're back at Formerly Evil Inc.?"

He hadn't tried to put it into words before, but that was basically why. "For the most part, yeah. I didn't want to wake up some day and discover I was sixty and wish I'd done things differently, you know?" Lindsey tilted his head cooperatively as Spike started to clean the wound on his throat with some antiseptic, then hissed as it stung.

"Sixty, a hundred and twenty, the immortality sometimes makes it hard to compare. I like living in the now 'cause maybe tomorrow I'm a pile of dust on somebody's doorstep. First time in forever that I've had to think about what I want; was always after pleasing someone else."

Lindsey waited until Spike had stuck on two Band-Aids before he asked, "So what _do_ you want?"

Dropping the pile of wrappings on the floor, Spike shook his head. "I'm still looking, still not sure. Enough with the turning it all around on me, lawyer boy--you don't have to be here. Could be out there in the world making people happy with your music. Why are you really back _here_?"

"Because I can do both?" Lindsey shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious about his nudity in the face of their conversation. "This is where I started out. Something about coming back here made sense." He glanced down at his hands, at the hand that wasn't really his and never would be. "Like you and Angel," he said.

Spike pursed his lips and squinted, obviously thinking hard about that. Getting up, he retrieved the beers, passing Lindsey his. "That might be it. I mean, you can run around the world to anywhere, but there are always places and people that pull you back. My last place is a crater in the desert I hear."

Lindsey took a sip of the beer -- warm and a tiny bit flat, but still good -- and reached out a hand to run it across Spike's chest as the vampire sat down again. No point in keeping his hands off, since they were both naked anyway, he reasoned. "So, you think you're gonna stay? Long term, I mean?" Might as well find out now, not take a chance on getting too attached if Spike was figuring on leaving.

It didn't quite tickle as Spike's hand stroked the top of Lindsey's thigh. "Might. There are things that pull me here." Spike's eyes were saying that the 'might' was maybe a bit more definite. Then the vampire looked away, downing a big swig of beer. "I mean, you know, mystical attachment with the amulet and all." Spike sniffed loudly, but didn't meet Lindsey's eyes.

The thought that he himself could be a reason -- even just one reason among many -- to consider staying made Lindsey grin. "Yeah, those amulets," he drawled. "They can be a bitch."

For a moment, Spike eyed Lindsey suspiciously before caving into his own half-grin. "What about you, cowboy? Mystical things holding you here too?"

"Nope. Just my own sense of personal worth. Well... that and the salary." Lindsey stroked his hand down to Spike's stomach, marveling at the coolness of his skin. "I feel like I'm doing the right thing, have a nice lifestyle to show for it and enough time for my music. Not much else I could ask for."

Spike rolled on his side, running his hand up Lindsey's inner thigh. "Not a thing, huh?"

Lindsey's eyes moved over Spike slowly, taking in every detail. He remembered something he'd said to Angel right before he'd left L.A. -- that he hadn't had some big moral crisis and then seen the light. Turned out he'd had to come back to the city to do that. Turned out that the light was everywhere, if you just knew how to look for it.

He slipped an arm around Spike's waist and pulled him close. "Maybe one thing," he said, and kissed him hard.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Onetwomany in the Angel Book of Days Summer Challenge. Prompt: Lindsey and Spike. No songfic.
> 
> Author's notes ~ Thanks also to Jane Davitt for the wonderful beta and to Rubywisp for loaning us her love for Lindsey and agreeing to stalk him.
> 
> Written as a back up fic for The Angel Book of Days, Summer 2003. My many thanks to Wesleysgirl for being the Lindsey to my Spike. She is a beautiful person and *very* patient :-)


End file.
